Good Grief, My Honey
by KingNoodle
Summary: Maybe Kübler-Ross was onto something. The Joker goes through the five stages of grief in coming to terms with his eventual death due to the Titan Toxin.
1. Denial

When he started coughing, he didn't think much of it. When his skin began changing, it bothered him a little bit. But now as he stared down at the blood in his handkerchief, he knew something wasn't _right_.

Running through a list of potential causes, he couldn't come up with anything that really _jumped_ out at him. He's been stuck in Arkham for the past _how_ _many_ months, he hasn't had access to anything in his lab. _Unless it's this damn medication they keep trying to force down his throat._ He wouldn't put it past the staff in this _hell_ hole to try to finally off him. He couldn't count on his and Harley's fingers and toes combined of how many people wanted him _dead_.

"Finally trying to _kill_ me," he mumbled to himself before screaming, "YOU CAN'T KILL ME NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY, YOU _ASSHOLES_!"

Seconds later, two guards appeared at the door to his cell. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, now that you so _kindly_ ask, yes there is _indeed_ a problem," he said matter-of-factly, straightening his orange jumpsuit.

"And just what would that be?" the same guard asked, turning to the other and trying to slyly roll his eyes.

Frowning at this _blatant_ arrogance, his hands quickly shot out from between the bars, grabbing ahold of the guards collar and yanking backwards. The guard's forehead and nose collided with the metal door, a sickening _crunch_ filling the hallway. The other guard was yelling at him and pointing his gun, but he didn't care. If they were already trying to kill him, a bullet to the forehead after he attacked a guard would be the _perfect_ cover up.

 _Maybe he was playing into their hands._

.

…

….

 _He didn't like that very much. No, not very much at all._

Grabbing the barrel of the other guard's gun, he wrenched it from the guard's hands, driving the butt of it back into the guard's nose. The first guard was now slowly picking himself back off of the floor, but he stopped that progress with a swift blow to the side of the head. But then he felt a slight pinch in the side of his neck. He grabbed at it and pulled his hand away, now holding a small dart with a smiley face on it. Just as he was able to throw the dart into the eye of the closest person, he started to feel light-headed. Everything shifted to the side, and it felt like he was falling but _why_ would he be falling? As it finally dawned on him what they had injected him with, he cried out a gargled " _NO_!" before everything went black.

When he woke back up, he was in his usual solitary confinement cell, already fitted in his special straight jacket. At least here he could scream and carry on in peace without having to worry about the guards interrupting his persecutory delusions.

He went to stand up but found that he already was standing. Goddammit, they had him strapped to an upright gurney again. _Can't a man even just pace during one of his psychotic episodes?!_ And when he went to start screaming, he noticed that they put the damn muzzle on him too. It's not like he bit someone this time!

Grumbling, he resigned himself to attempting _again_ to figure out why he had coughed up blood. He already ruled out it being something from his lab, it's been months since he's been near any chemicals. Accusing the staff of slowly offing him only got him locked up in solitary, but he wouldn't put it past them so he decided to keep that as an option, at least for now. The only other thing he's done recently was inject himself with the _Titan_ toxin, which he had already recovered mostly from those after effects, and fuck Harley. Not unless fucking the dimwit spontaneously produced a brain tumor - _which wouldn't surprise him_. Maybe he _should_ keep this option open for debate too...

He then proceeded to think of _every_ bad thing that came out of fucking Harley Quinn. He had to deal with a _needy_ bimbo begging and trying to con sex out of him _constantly_. His only solace was here in solitary - _well_ , until he got bored and when he finally got back into his usual cell, he always broke out that night to find Harley. But that's _beside_ the matter. She's certainly become the _anti_ -muse at times. God, it was _more_ than _difficult_ to think around that woman, all _squeaky_ voiced and _never_ able to leave him the _fuck_ alone. He had to accommodate for _two_ instead of only having to worry about _himself_ , but, eh, most of the time, he left her for the Bat-

 _Wait_ , what was he thinking about again? Oh, he was thinking of why he could possibly be coughing up blood. Oh _yeah_ , he came up with the Titan toxin!

He had mostly gotten over the side effects of the toxin; the tremors had calmed down, along with occasional hallucinations - okay, maybe they were a bit more than _occasional_ but they had gone away about a month ago. The only thing that remained was the muscle spasms he got from time to time, but those were slowly abiding too. So why would this suddenly pop up _now_?

Sure, there was the coughing too. And they way his skin was changing. But could _all_ of it be traced back to injecting himself with the Titan toxin? All of the others that had been injected with it had returned to _normal_ and were _fine_ now. So why would _he_ be the only one dying?

That's right, that's because he's not _dying_. There's _no_ _way_ he could be dying right now. The coughing is probably because of these damn _deplorable_ conditions they keep Arkham in now-a-days. They could care less about their so-called " _patients_ ", yeah that's why he's been coughing so much recently.

And the skin changing is probably as easily explained as well. He's getting kinda old, right? Nah, he ain't _that_ old yet. Maybe it's from his first chemical bath all those years ago back at Ace. _Who_ _knows_ what all those chemicals did to him? They've sure _fucked_ him up a good lot already!

So the blood must be a _fluke_ or something. Nothing's wrong with him, he's still in _perfect_ running condition. He's the _Joker_ for God's sake! Nothing's ever going to happen to him, he's _unstoppable_.

 _Nah, this isn't happening to him._


	2. Anger

WOW! It's been how long since I posted the first chapter? Anyways... Due to some personal things going on, I haven't been able to write and be creative as much as I'd like to, but I finally got the second part of this finished! So sorry for the long wait, but I hope everyone enjoys it!

Hugs and hand grenades,

~ King Noodle

A week has passed and he was still stuck in solitary, _still_ stuck on this damn gurney. And like it or not - which, of course, he did _not_ like it - _he_ had become his very own personal **bathroom**. Not that there was much to piss or shit out, though. Food was a scarcity and water was brought only when he _really_ needed it. But he still didn't like it nonetheless! He was the _Joker_ , he held himself to _higher_ standards than that of an average _human_.

"Just wait until I get out of here," he mumbled to himself, "There's a new doctor in town who's ready to try out some new _therapy_ and _medication_ regimens."

 _Click_.

His head snapped up at the noise. Someone must _finally_ be coming to join him in his lonely little world. _Maybe with some food and new clothes._ As if on cue, his stomach growled, reminding him of how long it's been since he ate anything. _And then I'll snap their necks._

The door to his cell swung open, revealing an orderly and a guard. The orderly was holding a tray of food; the guard keeping his gun positioned on his forehead. The young man with the food gave him a quick look over, and found that he's been left in quite unpleasantly… _fragrant_ conditions.

"Shit," the kid muttered, setting the tray on the floor next to the door.

" _Literally_ ," the guard grunted, smirking.

"Just… Just stay right here while I get a change of clothes," the kid said, backing out of the room and leaving him alone with the guard.

"I always knew you were a piece a' shit. _This_ ," the guard said, waving his gun around, "Just confirms what I already thought."

"Why don't you come over here and tell me that, guard," he smiled, even though his muzzle hid his infamous grin.

"Nuh-uh, I ain't _stupid_ , clown. I'm staying right over here. I've heard stories about you gettin' outta something like that before and I ain't gonna risk it," the guard said, shaking his head, "No no, I ain't gonna be another tally mark on the list a' people you killed."

"Hm, you're smarter than you look," he mused, cocking his head to the side, "But obviously not smart _enough_."

"What's that supposed to-"

"I'm back, and I've got clean clothes," the orderly interrupted, coming back into his cell brandishing a new set of garments. But then a look of confusion clouded his features. "Um… how should we go about changing him?"

"Well, I'm sure as _hell_ not touching him," the guard said, shaking his head even more vigorously.

"Oh, come now, I'm not that _bad_. You're making me feel _ashamed_ of my present conditions, and that might _damage_ my _already_ fucked up noodle even more! That's certainly _not_ what the staff of a… _respectable -_ **ha!** _-_ mental institution should be doing, don't you think?"

The orderly elbowed the guard in the ribs, taking the attention off of him for a second. He was about to slip his arm out of one of the wrist restraints - he's been down here for a _week_ now, he _had_ to do _something_ to keep himself busy! - but another fit of coughs overtook him. He could feel the blood coat the inside of the muzzle, feel it drip down his chin. And the sudden noise certainly got _their_ attention.

He mentally cursed himself for letting himself display such a show of _weakness_ , especially in front of an orderly and a _guard_. The orderly now eyed him suspiciously, the guard having retrained his aim on the center of his forehead.

"How long has this been persisting?" the orderly asked, daring to take a few steps closer to the upright gurney.

"Why would you even care? _You're_ the ones who're trying to kill me anyways!" he sneered, frowning at them even though it was hidden.

The blood must be seeping out from underneath the muzzle because the two men standing in front of him now stared at him almost in _horror_ of the sight before them. He _relished_ in their terrified expressions - God, it's been far too _long_ since he's actively instilled fear in anyone. Arkham Asylum isn't exactly the best canvas to work with; everyone already knew you, and they have you doped up out of your mind on _Thorazine_ most of the time.

"Awe, you boys look a little _scared_. I do certainly hope it's not because of _me_ ," he said.

"There's… there's b-blood coming out from…" the orderly stuttered, lifting a hand to point at the offending mouth restraint.

"If you would be so kind enough to come clean me off, it'd be _much_ appreciated," he continued, ignoring the horrified stares of the men before him. Even though they made him feel _amazing_. Better than he's felt in a _long_ time. Now if they only just got a _little_ bit closer, then he'd be in business.

"Um, uh… Yes, of course," the orderly said before grabbing the new clothes and food, elbowing the guard again and prompting his fellow staff member to approach him.

The guard slowly moved forward, keeping his gun trained on his forehead. The orderly followed closely behind the one holding the gun, he could see both of them trembling. _Oh, this was going to be good!_

He waited for them to get a little closer before he leaned forward and shouted, " _BOO_!" The pair jumped back, each letting out their own startled gasp. He cracked up laughing, doubling over as far as the chest restraint would let him. Then the coughs overtook him again, more blood dripping down over his chin.

The pair were scared _shitless_ , he wouldn't be surprised if one of _them_ had shit themselves too. _Ironic_ , ha. He gave them a few moments to settle back down, watching as their chest still heaved with each breath, beads of sweat sliding down their foreheads. So predictable.

"Alright, _alright_ ," he said, chuckling, "I'm all outta tricks."

But they didn't seem to entirely believe him. He's heard the stories told about him in this _institution_. Some a bit _exaggerated_ but he wasn't about to correct them. Just gave him more _expectations_ to live up to.

"Pull anything like that again, and I'll bury a bullet in your head," the guard grunted, taking a couple steps forward.

"Well, it'll have a nice warm and cozy home then if you do that," he smiled, cocking his head to the side.

Neither laughed - which made him _frown_ \- but it didn't matter. He'd be laughing here in a few seconds, and _them…_ well, it wouldn't really matter to them to laugh anymore.

Just a _little_ bit closer, and the hand that he had worked loose shot out, grabbing the guard's gun before a shot could be rattled off, using the butt of the weapon to knock the guard out. Keeping the business end trained on the stunned orderly, he quickly worked his other wrist free. Once his arms were free, he ripped the muzzle from his mouth, holding it up to look it over.

"Hm, I should get this checked out, shouldn't I?" he asked, waving the blood covered mouth piece at the shaking orderly.

When he got no response, he bent down and undid his leg restraints. Stepping down from the gurney, he stretched his _stiff_ body, cracking his neck and several other joints. The guard began to come back around so he got a swift kick to the side of the head.

Advancing on the orderly, the _terrified_ staff worker turned and tried to run from the room, but he wasn't quick enough. He landed a blow on the back of the kid's head, watching as he fell to the floor with a cry. With a smile on his face and laughing hysterically, he proceeded to beat the orderly and guard, using his anger over his current situation to fuel his fire.

 _Why was this happening to just him? Why didn't any of the others he injected with the toxin end up like this? Why was it_ _ **only**_ _him?_

Letting out a guttural scream, he brought his fist down into the guard's face one last time, feeling the bones _crunch_ underneath his knuckles. The rest of it was just a _blur_. More guards flooding the cell, too many tranquilizers to count pinching the skin of his neck. He vaguely remembered being strapped back down onto the gurney - but not before being _roughed_ up himself, which he was too out of it to realize it was happening.

The last thing he remembered seeing was the dead orderly being dragged out with a bloodied muzzle strapped to his face, a messily drawn smile on the outside.


	3. Bargaining

So. This is what happens when I'm in a car for about eight hours with nothing better to do. But the next part is finished! I had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. I hope everyone else enjoys it just as much! Only two parts left to go!

Hugs and hand grenades,

~King Noodle

"Are you there God? It's me… Joker."

Lying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling of his cell deep within the belly of Arkham Asylum. Not his normal cell - no, he hasn't been a good little boy long enough yet to be rewarded with such luxuries - but at least he was out of solitary. _Thank you, God._

"I know it's been awhile since we had a good talk… Okay, maybe we've _never_ talked before, but it's never too late to start, right? _Right_? Nevermind that, let's just get straight down to business," he said, standing up from the floor - yeah, they didn't give him a bed either - and began to pace his small cell. "We both know that I'm in a bit of a… _pickle_ at the moment, and I was wondering if you'd, you know, _help me out_. I know I haven't exactly been the _greatest_ person ever - oh, don't even give me that look, I know I'm a piece of shit."

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in frustration. "Alright, let's just stop beating around the bush already… Ooo, a beating, that sounds like so much fun right now… _Sorry_ , the brain's hardwired for violence and cruelty towards other members of my species. _And_ all others. I don't discriminate. Anyways, you know what _I_ want, now you just need to tell me what _you_ want and what I gotta do that will make you help a brother out, m'kay?"

Looking around the dark cell, the _blinding_ theatrics and _divine_ proclamation he was expecting never showed up. _Oh, so the big man upstairs was giving him the silent treatment. Alright then, fine, two can play at that game._ Plopping down on the middle of the floor, he crossed his arms with a huff, refusing to say another word. But that didn't last for very long.

After a few short beats, he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air and shouting at the ceiling, "So you're not going to tell me? You want this to be a _guessing_ _game_ , huh? Well, if you want me to guess, I can guess!"

Climbing off of the floor, again, he pointed a finger at the ceiling, "You know, you're not as high and mighty as you think you are, _buddy_. _Sure_ , you might have some _nice looking robes_ and _streets paved with gold_ , but have you seen _me_? I've got _glorious_ purple suits and streets that run red with _blood_. Can't beat that with all your heaven bullshit!"

The laughter overtook him, soon becoming uncontrollable. _Who did this guy think he was? Acting all cool and shit because he has some big house up on a cloud. Whoop-de-fucking-do._

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I got a little carried away there, but you should expect that by now with me. But you want me to guess? I can do that," he said, mulling over what the big man could really want him to do, "You want me to do volunteer work, be an upstanding member of the community? Nah, it's a bit late for that. How about makes amends with Batman? No, Batsy's too much fun to give up. Want me to… No, I know what you want me to do."

The realization hit him like a train. Or like Bane punching him in the chest? He's never been hit by a train, but he has been beaten by Bane before and that hurt like Hell so maybe the realization was more like Bane punching-

Shaking his head, he got down on his knees and threw his arms wide, staring up at the ceiling and crying, "No, you can't possibly want me to do _that_! I'll be the laughing stock of the whole town, I'll be made fun of at every dinner party, bar get-together, or _any_ social gathering for that matter! Please, don't make me do it!"

Then he scowled, wagging a finger again, "Oh no, that's _exactly_ what you want to happen, I see how things are. You want me to be completely humiliated. You want me to be utterly embarrassed. Well, you don't know who you're dealing with because the _Joker_ is not easily humiliated or embarrassed. You're talking to the guy who's exposed himself to everyone just for the mere fact that that image would be _forever_ burned into their memories. Not that I'm an _eye_ sore or anything. No, Harley would have something completely different to say on _that_ matter."

He took another deep breath. "This is all about _her_ , isn't it? I haven't treated her well enough over the years, oh no, not even _close_ to good enough. And you want me to pay for it, don't you? _Yeah_ , that's what you want. You want me to treat her like how she always should've been. She deserved _much_ better than me, and you want me to make recompense because we both know that she would never leave me for someone else - no, it's too _late_ for something like that."

Groaning, he hit himself on the forehand with an opened hand, muttering nonsense to himself. _Of_ _course_ this is what he had to do to make things right again. Everything _always_ revolved around that little minx. _That sorry, good for nothing, rotten little-_

"No," he said outloud, hitting himself in the head again, "Positive thoughts, positive thoughts. Gotta think _positive_ _thoughts_."

He began to pace his small cell, hands clasped behind his back. What _exactly_ could he do to appease the Big Man when _Harley_ was involved? Sure, _fucking_ her was the first thing that came to mind. She was _always_ pining for a roll around in the sheets. But he did that enough for her already - _more than he'd like to_. So what could he possibly do?

"Isn't there something _else_ I can do?" he screamed, turning back up to the ceiling, throwing his fists up. "Just _tell_ me what you want instead of making me _suffer_! But no, that's what you want! You _want_ me to suffer to give me a taste of what I've dished to Harley all these years!"

Screaming again, he threw a fist against the closest wall, barely registering the pain that spiked up his arm. He continued taking out his frustration on the wall, quickly becoming slick as his blood splattered along the bricks.

Eventually wearing himself out, he stopped and stared down at his hands, breathing heavy. He had broken the skin over every single one of his knuckles, almost mesmerized as he watched his blood drip steadily onto the floor.

And then the coughing came back. He couldn't tell if he coughed anything up this time, already having painted himself with his own blood. This fit lasted longer and was more violent than any of his previous ones, leaving him gasping for breath as he fell to his knees, one hand on the wall to keep himself propped up.

"Alright, alright," he said, sucking in a large breath, "I got it, I'll fuck the girl. I'll treat her better, I promise. Just please make this shit _stop_."

Holding onto the wall as he stood up to keep himself steady, he walked over to the door of his cell. He guided his hand across the wall until he found the right tile, wedging his fingernail underneath to force it off, breaking his nail in the process. Yanking the tile off of the wall, he let it fall to the floor, pulling out the correct wires to short wire the power to the door.

Opening with a satisfying hiss, he popped his head out into the hallway to make sure no guards were lingering about. _Probably all taking a smoke break out back and giggling at trashy porn, ha._ He silently made his way through the dark, empty halls, only a trail of blood providing any evidence that he was out of his cell.

A few more turns and he was at his destination. She wasn't awake, her sleeping form curled up in a mess of blankets on the bed hanging from the wall. He made quick work of the wires, her door sliding open with ease.

Her head popped up due to the noise, a confused " _Wha-?_ " coming from the mountain of blankets. But then she realized who was standing at the entrance of her cell, and she excitedly clambered out of her bed and wrapped her slim arms around his waist. "Oh, Mister J, I'm so happy to see you! I was wondering when you'd come! Wait, what's all this blood fr-"

"Shut up, Harls," he grunted, pushing her back up against the wall, his bloody hands already working on getting her Arkham issued jumpsuit off, "Daddy's been feeling lonely down in his cell, and needed some company."


	4. Depression

Hello freaks and lunatics! I'm so terribly sorry that it's been a while since I posted something for this story. Just with work and college starting up again, I'm struggling to keep up with my writing. But I finally got something written! I'm not too sure of it, but I hope it turned out well. Enjoy!

Hugs and hand grenades,

~ King Noodle

The _demons_ from Hell finally decided to let him come back to his usual cell, and he's been in the same position for the past three? _Four_ days now? The food, the medication had started to build up at the front of his cell by the small hatch in the door. If he didn't start eating soon, they'd eventually stop bringing it.

 _Not that it mattered anymore anyways._ No matter what he did with Harley - fucking her, changing the way he treated her, all of it - _none_ of it worked. He was still coughing, _still_ coughing up blood.

So he just took to lying on the thin mattress day in and day out. He couldn't tell if he even slept anymore; everything just blurred together, lying awake every day and every night. There was no window in his cell; no sun to watch crawl across the sky, no moon to watch drag itself through the cosmos.

He never got _bored_ , though. Despite his lack of movement, that didn't stop his mind from working in _overdrive_ as it normally took to doing. Thoughts raged through his mind like teenagers doped up on methamphetamines. And just like the kids, it wasn't _pretty_ either.

His mind was a _dark_ place at the best of times, but he'd come to accept that a _long_ time ago. But getting lost in his thoughts this time 'round felt almost… _different_. Something was off. Something was _wrong_. Just like the rest of him, but he couldn't place exactly _what_.

He knew what was wrong with him physically; first the coughing and the skin changing, then the coughing up of the blood. But _mentally_? Something had always been wrong with his noodle inside his noggin, but now it was just wrong. Like, _wrong_ wrong. The bad kind of wrong, not that there was any kind of _right_. He had come out of the chemical waste vat _wrong_ , but whatever was happening now was much, _much_ worse.

And he couldn't do anything to stop it. Not that he had much _motivation_. Lying in bed and wasting away seemed like a pretty damn good idea to him right now. Not even the prospect of playing with Batsy could get him out of bed. _And that's saying something_.

Honestly, he didn't know what was left for him to do. He'd tried _everything_. He had been nice to Harley, tried to treat her better; he had _fucked_ Harley, tried to pay a little more attention to her. But everything that he had done, _nothing_ had worked to make this go away. The Big Man upstairs must be having a real _grand_ time fucking around with him.

Maybe this was _supposed_ to happen. Maybe he was _supposed_ to die like this. Maybe that after all of the chaos and mayhem he had caused, these were the repercussions of his actions. He wanted to go out in the biggest bang possible, hopefully taking out as much of the city as he could while he was at it, and finishing off Batman in the process. Maybe this was his punishment, forced to waste away alone in a cell in this damned Hell hole.

During any other vacation here at the _lovely_ , family-friendly Arkham resort, he would spend every waking second scheming and planning his way out of this place. He knew a thousand and one ways out of here, still discovering more with each new return. But this time around, this time he had absolutely no motivation. No motivation to move, to eat, to even escape.

 _Nothing_. That was the emptiness pumping through every vein, filling every cavity inside of him. It was suffocating him, drowning him; filling up his lungs until they felt like they were lined with three inches of lead. He'd never felt like this before, and he didn't like it. Not that he had the drive to get up and do something about it.

The sound of voices floated down the hall towards his cell, breaking the monotony of the silence that he settled over him like a blanket. He couldn't tell if they were guards or orderlies, them still being too far away. And to be quite honest, he wasn't _trying_ that hard anyways.

"...hasn't moved an inch in almost a week. Everyone's starting to think he's dying. Hasn't touched his medication or food, which isn't too abnormal - for _him_ , at least - but some of the doctors are actually starting to get concerned. And Quinn's beginning to get out of control, not hearing anything from her ' _puddin'_ for a while now," a voice said, coming closer to his cell.

Concerned, huh? Never would he have ever thought that he'd hear that the doctors are actually getting _concerned_ about him. Poor things, probably losing sleep at night over him, crying to their significant other, "I… I think he's _dying_!" Boo hoo hoo.

It wasn't surprising that Harley was having a crisis without him. After all of the nights he had snuck out of his cell and up to hers, she must be losing her _mind_. The corner of his mouth briefly twitched up into a smile, the thought of Harley going crazy with his absence bringing with it a fleeting sense of happiness. He could always count on Harls to cheer him up, if only for a few moments.

"I've heard that they had to restrain her with a straightjacket and use tranquilizers. Managed to bite off one of the guards ears before they could get her under control. I wonder how violent she'd be if we actually tried to piss her off," another voice answered, followed by a chuckle.

 _Straightjackets and tranquilizers_! Harley was having all of the fun without him! Oh, he'll certainly make her pay for that one, not waiting for him. But he must applaud her biting off the ear of a guard. Maybe if he makes it out of this cell, he'll kiss her properly.

"Do you think we should do something with him? He seems pretty docile, maybe we could take him up to Quinn's cell to calm her back down. She'd probably appreciate knowing he was still alive, with her ranting and raving about us killing him all hours of the day," the first voice said, almost right outside his cell now.

 _So he wasn't the only one who thought that the demons in this Hell was trying to kill him_. He had trained Harley well. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that _she_ had done most of the work, falling head over heels for him and conditioning _herself_ to always put him first. Sure, he had played the manipulation game, but it was Harley that had taken everything above and beyond. But when was he ever honest with himself?

Aside from _now_. He could say that he knew he was dying, and he'd know he was being truthful. It was something he felt deep in his bones, something that resonated within him unendingly. It was something he couldn't ignore; he was forced to recognize this knowledge inside of him. He _hated_ it.

The owner of the second voice seemed to be considered the first voice's proposition. It hadn't answered in a few minutes, and he was beginning to think that maybe they had moved on down the hall. _Yeah, leave the dying man alone._ There was a shuffling sound outside his cell, and he knew they were still there.

"You know, that doesn't sound like too bad of an idea. But maybe we should call for some guards, just in case this is, you know, one of his ruses. He's been known to go to the extremes to pull something off. Many staff members before us have been fooled by him. He's not an idiot, he's quite the opposite. He's a _genius_ ; just imagine what he could've done if he hadn't've ended up like this," the second voice finally replied.

"Slow down there, buddy. Don't sound _too_ excited," the first voice joked, laughing. "I'll have to call the guards to put _you_ _in_ a cell."

"I'm just saying. I'm not a _fan_ of his, I'm just appreciating his intelligence."

If he had the drive to move, he'd get up from the bed and embrace the owner of the second voice. There was a very _smart_ man, indeed. And then he'd turn to the first one with a big smile on his face, slitting his throat open with his own staff identification card.

"Sure you are," the first voice chuckled. A ping and a soft puff of air sounded out in his cell, the door slowly beginning to rise. "Let's just check to see if he's still alive first. Then we'll go from there, alright?"

There was no response, and he assumed the second orderly had nodded his agreement. He didn't move as they entered his cell cautious, lingering close to the entrance in case he suddenly jumped at them. But he wasn't going to, he didn't have the energy to. Not eating for a few days was really starting to take its toll on his body.

When they saw that he wasn't about to move, they slowly, carefully made their way over to his bed, peering down at him. One of them looked vaguely concerned, he guess that this was the owner of the second voice.

"Good morning, Mr. Joker. How are you feeling today?" the concerned one said, a half-hearted smile resting on his face.

Continuing to stare up at the ceiling, he didn't even blink his eyes in response to the question. _At least now he knew it was morning_. He also knew that his chest was barely moving; he knew that they were probably entertaining the notion that he really was dead. _Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not dead yet._

"Can you hear me? Could you blink once if you can hear my voice?" the concerned orderly said, his smile now falling downwards.

"Maybe he's dead, Spencer," the other one said.

"I can see his chest moving slightly. He's still alive, Peter, but something's wrong," Spencer replied, his tone changing slightly at the end. "Can you blink for me?"

Deciding what the hell, he slowly closed and reopened his eyes, surprised at how difficult it was to even do such a simple movement. He shouldn't have let himself go like this for this long, but he lacked all incentive to move, to get off of this thin, uncomfortable mattress.

"See, he's alive," Spencer said, sounding immensely relieved, "Blink once for yes, twice for no. Are you feeling sick?"

What did they mean by _sick_? Sick as in a physical illness, like a stomach ache, or sick in the head, like the disease swimming around in his brain cells? He blinked once.

"Is it pain in the stomach?"

He blinked twice.

"Pain in the chest?"

He blinked once, again.

"Do you find it difficult to move?" Spencer asked.

Blinked once.

"Mr. Joker, are you feeling depressed?" Spencer ventured, sounding unsure of himself even as he spoke.

Pausing for a second, he mulled over the question. Was that the weight that had settled inside of him, eating away at him from the inside out? Was the possibility of his looming demise depressing him? Was that why he found it difficult to get out of bed, to find himself and take his medications?

He closed his eyelids once, this time remaining shut for a few moments before slowly opening again. That was the answer, that was it; he was depressed.

Peter and Spencer shared a look between the two of them, it not going unnoticed by him. He knew that they had doubts about his so-called ' _depression'_ , but it was their job to believe him and treat him accordingly.

Turning back to him, Spencer said, "I'll make sure an anti-depressant is added to your medications list. But it will only work if you take it, understand?"

Not blinking his eyes in response, he fixated his gaze on the ceiling once more. Sure, add that to my list. I'll add that to my collection of pills on the floor. Step aside Ozzie, there's a new drug lord in town.

Sensing that he was finished with their _conversation_ , the pair of orderlies turned to exit his cell. Before leaving, they each bent down and picked up the ignored trays of food and neglected paper cups of pills.

"Wow, something must _really_ be wrong with him," Peter whispered not so quickly as the pair exited his cell, the door closing with a soft puff behind them.

Oh, there has always been _something_ wrong with him. Now _everything_ was very, _very_ wrong.


	5. Acceptance

Well kiddos. All good things must come to an end. Thanks for sticking around, I really appreciate it.

Hugs and hand grenades,

~ King Noodle

"Harley, my sweet, I've just had the most _brilliant_ idea."

After all that time he spent lying around in his cell, they - meaning the so-called " _authority_ " in this establishment - decided that since he'd been such the _model_ patient, they'd allot him some recreation room time into his schedule. _Like he was so busy to begin with_.

Yeah, busy _dying_ , he thought with a devilish smirk.

Harley looked up at him with such immense admiration in her wide, blue eyes, he felt almost sad to let her in on his dirty, _deadly_ little secret. _Almost_. But he was waiting in practically _sick_ anticipation to see the look on her face when he told her that he was _dying_ , and what he wanted to do about it.

"Whatcha got cookin' up there in that big brain a' yours, puddin'?" Harley asked, setting her crayons down to give him her full and undivided attention.

"Good things, pumpkin, good things indeed," he smiled, angling his head down at her so he'd be least likely to be overheard. He didn't particularly want anybody to get in on their little secret. Especially all of the _actual_ crazy people they had locked up in here; not _him_ , of course, he wasn't _crazy_.

Seeing movement in his peripheral vision, he pulled Harley closer to him, up and onto his lap. She came happily over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself up against him. His immediate reaction was to push her away, but he had made up his mind to _try_ to be nice. _Not sure how long_ that's _going to last, though._

Turning his head slightly so that he could make out better who had moved towards them, he saw that it had only been an orderly. As soon as he had moved though, the orderly shifted his course, walking over to check on Tetch instead. _Smart man_.

Harley shifted herself again once she noticed that he wasn't focusing on her anymore; her fingers playing with the curls of green hair at the base of his neck, her leg starting to bounce against his like a child pulling on his mother's skirt to get her attention. So he turned himself back to her, looking over her bright, youthful face with mild disgust.

In more ways than one, Harley was the child and he was her mother. The mindset she adopted around him was that of a young girl, looking to the only authority figure in her life for orders of what to do next. He would gladly instruct her, and then even more happily punish her afterwards for not knowing what to do in the first place.

But then as he thought more about it, _he_ could be the child and _her_ his mother. She was the one who cleaned and cooked - albeit, her food was never _edible_ anyways. She was the one who made sure his weapons were always cleaned and suits mended. Harley patched him up after a bad night, Harley made absolutely _atrocious_ jokes in attempts to get him to crack a smile when he was in one of his foul moods.

"Everything alright, puddin'?" her grating voice invaded his thoughts like a gunshot going off on a deathly quiet night.

He wanted to yank on one of her stupid ponytails, or shove her to the floor, or take a needle and thread to her mouth to finally shut her up, but he exercised _extreme_ self-control to keep himself in check. He had to be on his _best_ behavior if he wanted to keep getting rec room time. He _didn't_ , but he had to if he wanted his plan to work. He could've just as easily escaped a different way out of Arkham, but things were always easier if they weren't keeping him locked up in solitary confinement.

"Maybe that time spent catatonic did some _good_ ," he mumbled to himself before chuckling, forgetting that he even had Harley sitting on his lap.

"What was that, puddin'?"

He looked at her like he was just noticing her for the first time, but that expression was quickly replaced by a happy one. It could've been mistaken for a more sinister look; happy and sinister almost blended together for him, resulting in multiple meaning expressions. _Well, the joke's on them to figure out what they all mean, heh._

"Want to hear Daddy's plan, pumpkin?"

"' Course I do, puddin'!" her smile so big, it practically engulfed her entire face. It almost put him to shame. _Almost_.

"We're getting out of here-"

"We're escaping?!"

Clamping a hand over her mouth, his lips pulled back into a sneer, staring down at her through eye thin as slits. "What have I told you about interrupting me?"

She mumbled something in response, but his hand muffled her words. Her eyes revealed all of the fear he needed to see. They eventually lowered from his intense gaze, showing her submission to him. Slowly he removed his hand from her mouth, staring her down to see if she would speak again.

"What do you say?" he hissed only loud enough for her to hear.

"I'm sorry I interrupted you, Mistah J. I promise it won't happen again," she replied in a small voice, pulling away from his slightly like she was trying to disappear.

He stared at her for a few more beats, making sure that she wasn't going to interrupt him again. He wasn't against teaching her a lesson in the presence of others, he'd just have to accommodate his plans being pushed back a few weeks, or even a few months. But she remained silent.

"As I _was_ saying," he began, "We're getting out of this hellhole. I've got a new idea that's going to make ole' Batsy's blood boil. Now, Harley, I'm going to tell you something and you have to promise me to be quiet. Understand?"

"Yessir."

He didn't even bother pausing to think of a way to soften the blow for her. "I'm dying."

"WHA-"

Giving her a stern look, she immediately clamped her own mouth shut, but the tears were already beginning to stream down her face. "What do you mean you're dying, puddin'?" she whispered too loudly.

He growled at the volume of her voice before responding harshly, "It means I'm _dying_ , Harley."

"B-but _how_! Is it because of being in here? Are they giving you something they're not supposed to, puddin'? Because I'll, I'll ruff 'em up for ya, Mistah J! I'll kill 'em all! Real slow too so they suffer!" she said quickly, the tears coming more forcefully now.

Harley clutched onto his Arkham issued orange jumpsuit, like keeping a tight hold of him would prevent him from slipping out of her grip. To keep him from leaving her. _Well, she's going to have to try harder than that._ But she was almost endearing, raging on about killing people for him. _Cute_.

"No, Harls. _Surprisingly_ it's not the so-called doctors that they employ at this so-called mental institution. No, it's something else," he said, pausing briefly, "It's because of something _I_ did."

The look of confusion on her face took the gold medal for most priceless expression Harley Quinn has ever made. The close second being when she walked in on him taking care of himself in some rather _choice_ attire. Okay, so he had a Batman mask on, _big_ _whoop_. He'd finally murder the Batfreak before ever admitting that out loud. Well- that wasn't _entirely_ true. He'd definitely tell Batman - or _anyone_ \- that if it'd be in his benefit to do so. But still, the look on Harley's face was _hilarious_.

"You did this to yourself, puddin'?" Harley asked, unsure that she heard him correctly.

"Remember whenever we threw that wonderful party for Batsy here not too long ago? Well, while you were being _useless_ and looked up in one of the cells, I was carrying on with the plan, injecting myself with the Titan toxin after Bats refused to give in to it. It was quite wonderful, _really_ , aside from all of the splitting skin and abnormal bone growth. But you know, every drug has its list of side effects," he chuckled, thinking back on that glorious plan. _If only he'd let the toxin take control, everything would've been_ perfect _._

"I remember, puddin'. That was a great plan a' yours."

"Well, that _lovely_ toxin is the source of all my problems, my dear. You see, it's my _blood_. It's _killing_ me. That toxin must've altered something in me to start attacking my various bodily systems. But a- _ha_! That's where my next plan was born! And can you guess just what that is?"

"Um.. you're going to inject Batman with some of your blood?"

He was almost taken aback. "You know, maybe you're not as stupid as you look, Harley."

She smiled at this, proud of herself for guessing his plan correctly. Well, she guessed _part_ of the plan. Yes, he was going to infect Bats with a sample of his own toxic blood, but he was going to take it further than that. _Much_ further.

"Close but no cigar," he continued with a smile, "Yes, I am going to infect Batman, but there's more to it than that. Once we get out of here, we're going to pay a visit to Gotham General and get all of the supplies that we need. Then we're going to start taking my blood and sending it to blood banks and hospitals across the city. We're going to infect _everyone_ , Harls."

"You're going to infect the entire city, puddin'? Do you even have enough blood for that?"

Bringing a hand to his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "That's why we do it over the course of a few weeks, Harley."

"Oh, yeah… That makes a lot more sense, puddin'."

"Of course it does, this was my idea."

"You're so smart, Mistah J. The city will be lost without ya," Harley said with a sad smile. Her small hand fixed the collar of his jumpsuit, pressing it flat against his chest again. "There's no cure, huh?"

"That's another thing I was considering. Maybe we can enlist Freeze to help us come up with something for the time being, but I don't think there's anything that will permanently make this go away, Harley."

"Okay, Mistah J," she said, her features contorting into a frown, the tears still slipping down her cheeks. "Why do you want to infect the whole city?"

"Because if I die, then everyone's going to die with me."


End file.
